


Speaking For Me

by AnotherLoser



Series: Return of The Nogitsune [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Exorcisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-10-15 03:17:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17520971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherLoser/pseuds/AnotherLoser
Summary: Stiles goes out of town for an exorcism.  It doesn't go well.





	Speaking For Me

**Author's Note:**

> I have zero confidence in the dialog this time, but it's what we got.

The water only stays hot for about two minutes.Stiles doesn’t mind much, he was getting awfully used to the cold.He never minded, really.Always ran on the cool side anyway.The other being residing in his head was so much colder.It’s practically natural at this point.

He spends longer in the shower than usual today.No amount of soap makes him feel genuinely clean in the dingy little motel he was staying at for the weekend.With one look at the place he didn’t need to guess what stains must cover the place, no black light needed.It’s what he can afford in cash though, and he wasn’t going to leave a paper trail here.

His friends don’t know he’s out of town at all.His dad thinks he’s looking at colleges- a bit early, even with senior year about to begin but given all of the craziness in Beacon Hills, stating that he just wants to be prepared before the next thing goes wrong doesn’t sound like a stretch.His dad said he deserved a break.Stiles agrees, except that was hardly what this trip would be.

_“I made you, Stiles...”_

“I know.”

_“I’m as much a part of this body as you are.”_

“I know.”

_“And yet-“_

“You know me, don’t you? You know I’m stubborn, and...”

_“Afraid?”_

He doesn’t respond but with a sigh, and promptly shuts off the water.

Towel-dried and dressed, Stiles checks over the room one last time; tiny, creaky, old.He has one backpack with him with his wallet, phone, a pair of sweatpants to sleep in, and one change of clothes.He’d usually bring a knife, but given the context it seems like something that would easily backfire.He leaves protection at home, and tucks the bag with all of what he did bring into the cabinet under the bathroom sink.

While he waits he paces, sips idly on a bottle of stale water he got the night before.

He’s not as nervous as he thinks he should be.If this worked, he would be free.Alone in his head again at last.

If it didn’t, what would change? Maybe the Nogitsune would be bitter but so far it only seemed a bit tired.Bored.Not angry- not even really annoyed.He should be putting more weight on this endeavor.Yet when the knock on the door comes he doesn’t even flinch.

Through the peephole he sees just what he expected; a priest and his assistant.  They're both as clean-cut as expected.  One with hair colored with more salt than pepper, a face beginning to wrinkle and the start of a belly as he seems to be letting himself go as he passes middle-age.  The other appears closer to his thirties, broader in the shoulders, face not line-free but quite smooth.

He opens the door with a half-hearted, polite smile that the men meet much easier.

"Mr. Stilinski?" The older man asks.

"Yes, sir."  He holds out a hand to shake, then steps aside to let the pair in.

Stiles doesn't have much belief.  He never really put weight on religious ideas.  Given how many unbelievable things he's seen now though, he wonders if maybe there was something to this- if they could tell just by looking at him that there truly was something else within his body as well.  Maybe he just looked sick though.  Everyone back home has grown used to the dark circles around his eyes that never go away entirely.  The leanness of his body wasn't healthy but never stopped him from keeping up with the pack, not when he was also building wiry muscle with midnight runs and push-ups until he gave out entirely.  It's a desperate search for strength and control, but it works well enough.  He just needed to eat more to keep up with it.  They still don't seem to notice the metallic smell of blood on him, and never ask about the disinfectant he uses to mask it anyway.  But then, was any of it Stiles actually pulling off a lie or was everyone so used to the changes they didn't realize any of it was out of place anymore?

"May we know your full name?" The younger man asks.

"Uh- yeah it's uh Stiles-- Well everybody calls me Stiles, but it's actually Mieczyslaw.  Stilinski.  I don't know if that's important to the process or..."  The man smiles.

"It can help.  It's good to meet you, Mieczyslaw.  I'm sorry it's under these circumstances."

"Yeah, me too..."  He scratches the back of his head, and instantly loses almost all focus.  The pair were clarifying their own names politely.  He wanted to listen.  Wanted to pay attention to everything they were explaining to him, but there’s static in his head and the echo of an oh so familiar voice.

_”They won’t survive the night with us... We could rip their heads off right now, Stiles, is that what you want? Why would you involve people like this? Because you saw a couple horror movies that said it worked? Or are you really that desperate to deny what we are? After all, you won’t tell anyone who tried to help before but you drive out of town for a couple of strangers waving around meaningless symbols?  You’re better than this... We are so much better than this.”_

So very loud, he whispers. Ringing in his ears like a pulse.

 

”Mr. Stilinski?” The older man asks, and Stiles blinks, wondering when the attention shifted like this.  One stands right in front of him, the other carefully setting a small bag of their own supplies by the foot of the bed.  “Is it with us now?”

Stiles purses his lips and nods.  “He’s pretty much always here.  He’s just kind of bitter that I called you now.”

"How long has this been going on?"  The younger asks.  Stiles gave a rundown to the other on the phone, but he doesn't mind clarifying.

"Couple months."  He answers, and the one who asked seems confused.  Every case Stiles has found online of attempted exorcisms usually have more build up than that.  The girl who became the movie went to doctors and neurologists repeatedly before a priest was called in, having episodes for years prior.  "I wanted answers.  A friend of a friend, sorta, said he could help.  Not really sure the science of it but he put me under and when I woke up things started getting...Really bad.  Nightmares just kept getting worse, I'm screaming myself awake, sleep-walking, losing time, and we've- we have been to the doctor.  Tried a brain scan but I'm physically fine."

"And this spirit we believe is in you, when did you suspect it?"

The corner of his lips twitches upwards.  "Before the scan.  Things were bad in my head, and then I went to bed and when I woke up I was in a coyote den getting hypothermia with this _thing_ asking me riddles and talking about _we_ and _us_ instead of him and I.  My friend's parents managed to find me and snap me out of it.  Then we went to the hospital...He didn't like that."

"I see..."

“Yeah, so,” they’re looking at him curiously.  He wonders if they did genuinely believe it was a demon and not just an early case of a mental illness.  Stiles looks away and scratches the back of his head.  “Can we get this show on the road?”

“One more question.” The older says.  “What can we expect from this demon when it comes out?”

He doesn’t tell them about the murders.  The chaos.  The loss of a friend, another’s boyfriend, the slaughter in a hospital or bombs at the sheriff station.  That would be too much.  “He wants pain. Chaos.  Likes playing mind games.  I’d recommend you go ahead and restrain me now.”

They do abide by his request, though somewhat hesitantly.  Stiles doubts rope would do much but it’s a fine attempt and he won’t agree without it.  They lock his wrists together behind his back and Stiles sits on the floor in front of the bed frame, letting another rope go around the knot at his arms and attach to the frame since there was no headboard.

They begin with a simple prayer, bible at the ready, expecting this demon to oppose their god.  Maybe there were some that do, he wouldn’t know, but this one couldn’t care less.  Stiles doesn’t mention that.  Even if he wanted to there’s distraction quickly growing. 

 _“You want to play, Stiles? We can play this game.”_  It says, and Stiles begins to wonder just how big of a mistake this may be.

He begins to fade, and the Nogitsune is ready to take his place.It’s not as easy as it once was.It asks permission these days, but Stiles refuses to give it.He knows it won’t last.Today will be marked as proof.  In the best case scenario it was a more subconscious choice on his part, backing off without actually thinking the words because the point of this was to let someone confront his demon and try to contain it again.In the less appealing outcome, the spirit was simply fooling him all this time to be nice.

The transition is seamless on the outside.  One moment a slightly reluctant but passive Stiles stares at the wall across from him, the next  _it's_ eyes were raising to look the men in their faces, one after the other.

Inside it's like being dunked in the bath all over again.  Cold - always cold - washing over him intensely.  His bones feel like ice, his flesh paper thin.  Joints aching and rattling as he's taken back, feeling as if the air has just been stolen from his lungs.

And then that too, ends.

He comes into the body again, but not the mind.  It isn't him moving, but he feels.  The clothes on his back, the air on his skin, carpet under his knees, rope around his wrists.

It just isn't his anymore.

The priests finish speaking, pause, and either catch on or assume it’s begun.

”Who are we speaking to?” The older asks, much more stern now.

The corner of it’s lips twitches upwards.  “Chaos.”

”What is your name, chaos demon?”

It outright scoffs this time.  “I have none.  I’ve been called many things, but not a name in the human sense.”

”What do you want with this boy?”

”His companionship.” The smile widens, a soft chuckle bubbling in it’s throat for but a moment.  “His body.  His mind.  Everything.”

The younger of the pair shifts his weight where he stands and it doesn’t waste a second to pounce- eyebrow raised, lips pasted like it’s just had a great realization.

” _What_? Did that sound too sweet for you?” It taunts.  “Have I offended you, father? I could talk about his dick? He hasn’t touched it since I came around but it used to be twice a day, you know.  I’m sure there’s a lot of pent up frustration in here-“

”What are your plans with this boy?”

Another pause.  Attention slowly turns to the other man, eyes locked. It tugs harshly on the binds, jerking forward with a thud of the rope being drawn taut.

”I plan to _eat him_... What do you think?  We share this body and I don't plan on leaving it."

"You're not welcome here.  Not with him or among the living," he gestures to his companion, who now moves to grab another book - this one old and worn - and begin reading.

The spirit squints its eyes as it hears well-practiced Latin tongue.  The legitimacy of these men was up for debate, but Stiles knew how to pick.  “Stop that.”

They don’t, of course, and the spirit grinds its teeth.  

“Oh fuck off!” It spits, and wet flecks land across it’s own face.Blinking as it turns it’s gaze to the culprit clutching a little bottle of holy water.They didn’t know what sort of demon it was, or they simply believed too strongly in their traditional methods to think this creature could be immune.The arrogance is impressive.

On principle, it roars.

“You are not welcome here!"  He scolds, the younger continuing his Latin in the background of the argument.  “We demand that you leave him at once!”

”This body,” it growls, jerking at his restraints again.  “is _mine_.”

They won’t hear it.  Nothing it said would matter.  Just like it’s protests to Stiles- humans were foolish, stubborn creatures.  The priests would continue chanting and praying no matter how this body struggles and writhes.  Yelling in pain and cursing their state.  That was what they wanted, in the end.  The show they were used to, what even his vessel hoped for.

It was happy to play along.

 

 

The rope burns it’s skin as it twists and turns.  Body jerking with every drop of water flung on it’s face.

Shoulders ache.  Throat runs dry.  Chest heaving between shouts and groans.

When they stop, the spirit sags in place.  Silent until prodded into muttering more insults, smug tune slipping through with their failed efforts.

Time ticks on, dragging when they realize they couldn't have the human back even for a moment.

It taunts and insults.  Screams when they get too close.

An arm pops out of it's socket just before the rope breaks under it's strength, and the pain brings a smirk to the creature's face.

It's been hours by that point.  Hours spent writhing and sweating under the men's attention.  Fueling the loop that was feeding on their frustration while reacting to their delusions as if they were real.  All come to head with it's cold, clammy hand on the older one's throat.  Hot breath hitting his face in bursts until finally it lifts him off the ground, kicking and gagging.

Something hard hits the back of it's head.  A look over it's shoulder reveals the other priest clutching the old book he'd been reading from, eyes wide in shock at the scene, at the lack of response.  Frustration was giving way to fear from them both.  It let them have their fun.  Let Stiles feel the agony he so clearly wanted from this afternoon.  In return for it's submission, the Nogitsune reasons, it was only fair that it get to feed off the plate laid in front of them.

It's good arm remains strong holding the man up, fingers curling around his throat like talons until his skin gives way.

As the body drops to the floor, the man left standing begins to pray.  This time not for the demon's banishment but for his own salvation.

The Nogitsune tosses the removed jugular aside and turns slowly to face him.

 

 

Stiles comes to slowly.

His throat hurt when his swallowed.  Lips smacked quietly when opening his mouth.

His eyes were no better.  Blinking and blinking and blinking while still they feel dry as a bone, only allowing him brief moments to squint before needing to be shut again.

Sitting up, for a moment he only feels cold.

His shoulder is back in place but no less sore.  The pain radiates up his neck and down his arm.  All over his skin is sticky in a way typically for the mornings he screamed himself awake.  He swings his legs over the side of the mattress, limbs stiff and joints protesting such a simple movement.  Then hands rest on the sheets either side of him, pressing down as he leans forward, ready to try and stand when he feels a sharp ache in his wrists.

He continues on regardless.

In the bathroom he sticks his head under the faucet for a drink of water.  It tastes stale but the cool liquid is soothing enoughhe drinks until his stomach feels full of it.  When he’s done he spares a minute to look in the mirror.

Face pale.  Lips chapped.  Both eyes bloodshot and one with a burst vessel.  Hair flattened in some places and sticking straight up in others, held mostly by his sweat and lingering product, he supposed.  His sight is only marginally better by then.  He isn’t gentle when rubbing at his face, hoping to force some moister back out.

Deciding a shower would be the best next step Stiles returns to the bedroom, his gaze scanning over the carpet as if to check the legitimacy of his memories.

The bodies were gone.  Taken care of in what he could only describe as a small mercy from the Nogitsune.  He may remember disposing of them, but at least he hadn’t had to haul them out himself.  Still there was blood soaked into the carpet, dried and dark now.  The throbbing in his skull readjusts his focus.

First he showers.  Next he leaves for the store.  He buys a few things for breakfast, some snacks for the road, and the cleaning supplies he’d need for the room.  How well his appetite would hold up is debatable in truth, but even when paying with cash he thinks better than to just buy chemicals and scrubbing brushes the day after a couple of men go missing.

He cleans first, eats second.  Cleans some more, just to be safe.  By then it’s well into the afternoon, and really he should be worried about himself.  Everything hurts and the possibility of getting caught was objectively terrifying.

He knows the Nogitsune wouldn’t let him though.  It knew what it was doing.  The bodies are long gone.  Stiles knew what ruined people at a crime scene, what got them caught.  They made the perfect pair of murderers and there wouldn’t even be a second set of footprints to worry about.

The thought twists his stomach again but by now it wasn’t a foreign feeling.

He does this all in silence.  Not so much as a cold breeze on his back or a whisper in the corner.  He also knows better than to think anything that happened the day before got rid of the spirit though.

It was only a matter of time.

 

Stiles waits until he was on the road before checking his phone, just to be sure there wouldn’t be so much as a cell tower trace of where he’d been.

Turning it back on brings two missed calls(one from his father, the other from Scott), and five text messages(also his friend and his family, as well as one from Malia).  Everyone checking in.  Wondering why he wasn’t doing the same.  When he has to stop for gas he replies, feigning a busy schedule and some fun activities that kept him forgetful and tired.  Apologies made, he gets back in the car and feels ice on his right hand.

” _Are you satisfied, Stiles?_ ”

With what, he wonders.  The pain.  The disappointment.  The death.

”Yeah.”


End file.
